“It’s nothing, I swear.” She cries. “Please, just drop it.”
“I’m not going to just drop this, Q, you know that.” He says softly, reaching out. She flinches, and in that moment he knows exactly who put that on her face. He can barely see straight, he’s so suddenly angry. He’s seeing red, and he lowers his hand gently onto her shoulder, and he gently rubs her arm, and suddenly she’s breaking down more, and she’s burying her face in his chest and he’s wrapping his arms around her, rubbing her back.
“How long has he been doing this?” He asks softly, and she manages to say between her sobs, “Not very long.” He leans back a little, lifting her chin with two gentle fingers.
“Quinn.”
“Just a few weeks, he’s just been so angry lately, and he doesn’t mean to do it, I know he doesn’t,” he has to stop himself from growling, because he knows that won’t help the situation, but dammit he’s pissed. He pulls her back in for another hug, holding her close and wanting to protect her from everything and anything that would even think about hurting her like this.
“Why haven’t you told anyone?” He asks quietly, when she’s calmed down enough to speak clearly. She rests her cheek against his chest, waiting a few moments before replying.
“I didn’t exactly know how to tell anyone. I didn’t want it getting around, and it’s always been so easy to hide. He’s never hit me in the face before…”
“You can always tell me, Q.” He says gently, and she pulls back slightly, giving him a smile. It’s small, just corners of her lips barely lifting up, but it’s there, and it’s grateful. She glances at his sweater, and lets out a quiet, short laugh.
“I ruined your shirt with all my crying.” He glances down, and laughs softly, shaking his head and looking at her with a half-smile.
“I have plenty. Don’t worry about it.” She smiles again, this time a tiny bit wider, and wipes her eyes. “C’mon. Let’s get you out of here. We can go back to my house. My mom’s making corn dogs for dinner.” He remembers that she likes them, especially the way his mom makes them. And really, who can blame her? His mom is a really good cook. Her smile widens, and she nods.
“I’d like that.” She says quietly, and he smiles, putting his arm around her shoulders and leading her down the hallway. He knows he can’t save her forever, but damn him if he’s not going to try.
(picture by the wonderful molly)
(Source: albrightsally)
